


Lie by Omission

by WhouffleLover24



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bartender John, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm trying, M/M, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Planner Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-06-24 17:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15635619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhouffleLover24/pseuds/WhouffleLover24
Summary: “Don’t you remember all the family dinners? All the shared Easters?” Sherlock froze, “You haven't told him, have you?” He laughed, “Oh Sherlock, that’s so predictable. Lying to your friend, really? It’s so pedestrian. I expected better from you.”(DISCONTINUED UNTIL FURTHUR NOTICE)





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> The summary is bound to change at some point.

* * *

 

  
John Watson stood at the entrance of the building. He looked down and gave himself a once over. His suit jacket was straight, and his tie adjusted. First impressions were important, after all. Notably on the first day of a job.

He had been fresh out of the war, living in a tiny bedsit right outside of London when Mike Stamford introduced him to this job. "Ignis et Aurum," the place was called. He was sure the name meant something; probably in some ancient language from someplace or somewhere, but he himself didn't know. He tried to do some internet searches, but he got little to none information about its name, or its history. Just the website for the hotel itself, and the surprising amount of recommendations it had.

With a deep breath and a clench of his one free hand to ease his nerves, he pushed open the door to the grand hotel.

His jaw immediately fell open with awe. He had expected many things; a few being an elegant stairwell, high ceilings, and velvet rugs. But nothing could've actually prepared him for what it actually looked like. It was practically a palace! His eyes went wide and he took in his surroundings.

The walls were a simple white, and the foyer was lit with a dimmed, tremendous chandelier that must've cost thousands and thousands of pounds. The staircase that winded up on both sides was a lush coffee-colored color, and the draped windows at the top let a few rays of sunlight fill the room, giving it a calmer atmosphere. He could hear the hushed voice of a receptionist conversing with guests and the small clatter of silverware. Suddenly he felt self-conscious in his -rather cheap- suit and ran a hand through his unkempt, brown, hair.

John was going to work here.

Well, granted, he was going to be a bartender here. But still, he wasn't going to be picky about what kind of job he got, as long as he got a job. And plus, being a bartender wasn't all that bad.

He sighed.

How had he gotten here? Eighteen months ago he was serving Queen and country, protecting others. The job he had wanted since he was a child. He guessed he should be grateful he was able to get this job. Not many war veterans were as lucky as he was.

But, still, that didn't soothe the sting that having is life-long dream shot brought. And not just in a metaphorical way. His shoulder and cane proved it.

"Mr. Watson?"

A short woman with mousy brown hair and a white blouse came up to him, "Um, yes, that's me." He let out his hand to shake. She took it.

"Good. I'm Molly Hooper," she introduced, "I have been instructed to show you to your station. Follow me." She turned around and John limped his way after her.

"So," he started, trying his hardest to break the silence, "care to give me an overview of this place? They didn't really give me much information when I applied, and the name doesn't really help," he hesitated; he had to choose his words carefully, "most hotels like these would never shut up about their long history and success, but this hotel hasn't said a word."

Molly paused and gave him a short glance, before picking up her pace again, "The owners prefer privacy. I used to wonder about it too; how they kept the place so successful. The word of mouth is really powerful, I imagine. I don't really know much. After all, I'm just a tour guide here."

John was about to ask why they had a tour guide, but he realized the silliness it and kept walking. They took a left and turned around the corner to a black door with a gold "Storage Room" sign stuck to the middle. Molly scanned her ID and let them in.

John looked around and crinkled his nose as a smell hit him. It smelled like old grapes, yeast, and a sewer all mixed up in a horrible concoction.

"Yeah," Molly laughed, "it smells in here, I know. You'll get used to it. At least, that's what other people have said. Personally, I'm still not used to it either." John chuckled. It seemed to lighten up the mood. He looked around. The room had a large bulletin board, industrial sink, a grey door (which he assumed was a walk-in cooler), and a large shelf with rags and extra glasses.

"Oh hello, Molly!" John was startled out of his thoughts as a short-haired, blonde lady dressed in a black apron, and a white collared dress entered the room, "I thought you were supposed to be out today!"

Molly's lips pressed into a thin line, "Well I was supposed to be, Ms. Morstan, but something urgent came up here so I agreed to stay," Molly replied, a strained smile on her face as she bit out her reply. The blonde lady, most likely deciding to ignore Molly's obvious dislike, turned her attention to John.

"Oh, you must be Mr. Watson! The new bartender!"

"Yes, that would be me," John nodded in agreement, "and just John, please."

She raised her eyebrows, "Already first name basis, are we?" she laughed, "well, in that case, John, my name is Mary. Nice to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," John smiled and winked.

Mary smirked, "Oh is it real-"

"Well if you're quite finished, Ms. Morstan," Molly's voice cut like glass into the air, "I would like to show Mr. Watson around his workspace." She looked at Mary pointedly, and Mary laughed and sauntered off back the way she came.

"She seems like quite a bit of fun," John remarked, still gazing at the still-swinging door.

"Ms. Morstan can be quite an excited person, yes." he could see her grit her teeth, "But that's not important now." Molly walked over to the bulletin board on the wall, "These are all your shifts. You will only be switching shifts with Ms. Morstan as she is the barmaid here. There are only about one hundred guests in the hotel at one time, so you should only need the two of you. But if more guests show up, or one of you need to take a day off, we can get another bartender to help out."

John nodded as he skimmed his shifts on the wall. He seemed to only be working at night / very early mornings. Which was what he requested when he applied and during the interviews. It wasn't like he slept much in the first place. Might as well be productive.

She continued on, "As you can see, your first shift will be at 6 o'clock to 1 A.M," that was odd, he had been told his first shift would be at half-past five, "Ms. Morstan will assist you in the beginning if you need any help. Questions?"

John shook his head wordlessly, not wanting to admit that he had probably come in a half hour early.

"Good," Molly nodded, "and one more thing,” she grabbed a card from the nearby table and handed it to him, "this is your ID. It'll let you come in here every day, so make sure not to lose it. You wouldn’t want to be locked out of your own job!" She giggled. “Well, off I pop. Have to tell the manager I can guide the tour in an hour," she checked her watch and mumbled under her breathe, "he really isn't going to like this."

"Why not?"

Molly jumped, but immediately recovered, "The manager doesn't like when things don't go to plan."

"Ah," John nodded, "I've had bosses like that too. They're a pain, aren't they?"

"Yes," Molly said with a resigned tone, "yes, they really are." she let out a sigh and straightened her back, "Well, Mr. Watson, good luck today. You’re going to need it." She opened the door and let herself out.

Good luck, John reflected, a bit unsettled. Not the best thing you want to hear on the first day on the job. And the way Molly had said it, almost as she knew something was wrong-

He shook his head. When was he ever going to get over this paranoia of his? He couldn't flip out every time someone said, 'good luck’ to him. He let out a deep breathe.

No one was going to die. No one was in danger. Nothing was going to happen.

No attacks, no running, nothing. Just a regular first day on the job. Nothing he hadn’t done before.

John almost felt disappointed.


	2. 2.

* * *

 

Twenty-five minutes later, John found himself at the bar as Mary gave him a gist of how things worked. He tried to memorize the things as she went. _The glasses and the ice bin are behind the bar, the fruit is in the cooler, and the equipment will be on the bar._

"The glassware has already been stocked behind the bar, and the ice has been transported to the ice wells so you don't have to worry about that..." Mary trailed off for a second and cleared her throat, "anything else?"

"Um, yes. What time is last call?"

"Little before 1 AM," Mary answered and her eyebrows furrowed, "did Molly not tell you that?"

"No, no she didn't. Was she supposed to?" 

"She was," Mary shook her head, "you really can't trust that woman."

"Um, alright." John cleared his throat and he fell into an awkward silence as Mary quietly calmed herself down, "So, um, should I stay after my shift to help with the cleaning?"

Mary smiled, it was rather uncomfortable in John's opinion "I will be joining you so it would be less work for you. Would that be ok with you?"

"Yeah, it would."

"Thanks so much, John," she grinned ear to ear.

"Not a problem.”

"Is that all?" Mary asked. 

"I think it is."

She grinned again, "Alright then. I guess you're good to go!" she patted him on the back, "Remember! Smile and talk to people! Become their friends." John nodded meekly and he followed Mary out of the room and into the bar.

Looking around, he saw a large black L-shaped couch in the middle of the room on top of a dark red carpet. There was a glass table in front of it which had a vase of flowers and available ashtrays.

In other words, this was not your traditional loud-yelling-and-dancing bar. Which made sense, as this hotel was not only sophisticated but would also set you back at least 160 pounds. If John turned his head to the left, he could see people in long dresses and prim suits sitting at tables, making quiet conversation. The couch in the middle of the room was rather empty, save for a few people spread out on it.

He took a deep breath and clenched his fists.

Into battle.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It wasn't until his shift was close to ending, that John fully appreciated the lack of people at the bar. It wasn't like he disliked having conversations with people, (he could do that exceptionally, thank-you-very-much) it was sheer physical discomfort.

He could feel his hand ache as he gripped his cane, and his leg twinged when he accidentally hit it against a shelf. He was sweating profusely, (even though he hadn't run or moved that much) and he had to abandon his suit jacket in order not to overheat. "Why is it so hot in here?" John grumbled under his breath to Mary.

She shrugged, "The AC must've gone out. I'll talk to the manager about it now."

He nodded, "Thanks."

She smiled and walked out the back door as John turned his attention back to a stack of dirty glasses in his hand, debating whether he should put them in the room behind him with the sink, or wash them now.  

"Gin Martini please."

The voice was low, most likely a man, and it had been utterly relaxed. Despite that, it had been so sudden that John jumped and he fumbled with the glasses, catching them before they hit the floor.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered apologetically while he stacked the glasses again and looked up.

The man (who John now knew had ebony curls and pale skin) cocked an eyebrow in amusement, "Are you in need of assistance?"

"Oh shut up," John snapped, leaning on the counter, "warn a man next time before you speak to them, would you?" He grabbed his cane and stood up straight. 

The man's amusement didn't fade, "Can I have my drink now, then?"

"Oh! Right, sure, I'll get that," he grabbed a chilled mixing glass, "how would you like it?"

"Surprise me," the man winked, and John almost dropped -again!- the glass he had held. A blush spread across his cheeks and he turned his attention to the gin martini he had set out to make. 

Less than a minute later, John handed him the chilled martini and watched the other man take the glass in his hand. The other man studied it and sniffed it, akin to a dog sniffing out a bomb. When it looked like he deemed it safe, he took a sip.

"Mmm,' he gave John a hum of -what John hoped to be- satisfaction, "it tastes different. A bit sweeter than usual gin martinis."

John nodded, "I added sweet vermouth instead of dry vermouth. Always preferred it to be honest."

"Interesting," the man took another sip, "anything else?"

John shrugged, "Not much. I added a dash of orange bitters, but that's about it."

"I see you stirred it." 

"Yeah. Shaking a gin martini just ends up bruising the gin," he huffed a laugh, "as cool as James Bond is-"

"Who?"

John cocked his head, "James Bond. You know. Double-0 Seven? Spy for MI6? Can't keep his equipment in one piece?" John stopped as he saw the other man was even more confused, "You don't know James Bond?"

"Should I?"

"I mean," John floundered, "he's-he's a British icon!" He shook his head, "You know what, just look it up on the internet or something."

The other man shrugged his shoulders, "That might help," he downed his drink and set the martini glass on the counter along with two fivers, "keep the change." He slinked away from the bar and behind another customer.

John smiled as the curly-haired and pale man left. What a strange man.

He didn't have time to ponder on it, though, because at that moment, Mary walked through the door, announcing that the bar was going to close up in ten minutes.

John wondered if he was going to see that strange man again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Call: An announcement that tells the customers that it's the last chance to order drinks  
> ___________  
> Disclaimer: I do not work at a bar, but I have tried my hardest to research as much as I can. If you find any mistakes or things I should add, don't hesitate to tell me in the comments!
> 
> Check me out at [ My Tumblr! ](https://loveinthefandoms.tumblr.com/)


	3. 3.

* * *

 

After everyone had left and the bar closed, John wiped down the counters and moved the dirty glasses into the dishwashers in the back room. He tried to start a discussion with Mary to relieve the awkward silence that hung above them. But Mary didn't seem to be having it and gave him short, clipped answers in response. He didn't know what had happened, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to.

 

Molly walked through the door behind them, "Hello Mr. Watson," John turned towards her, "I hate to interrupt, but someone was really adamant to see you."

 

"It's fine," he stood up from his crouch, "if that would be ok with Mary."

 

"It's fine." Her answer was clipped and she gave Molly an acerbic smile, "I'll be ok on my own."

 

Molly answered her with a smile -just as acidic as Mary's- and opened the door to the bar. John set the stack of glasses down and went through the door.

 

He stopped in his tracks. A familiar face stood behind the bar. It was him. The curly-haired, tall pale man from only hours ago stood in front of him. This time, though, he appeared to have a large coat in his arms.

 

"This is John Watson. You wanted to meet him?" Molly asked, more of a statement than a question.

 

John, on the other hand, was confused, "You're still here?"

 

The other man rolled his eyes, "Yes. As it is, I work for this hotel, and often visit."

 

John let out a perplexed huff, "You? But you ordered a drink-"

 

"He's the event manager here," Molly intervened.

 

"It was a test. As the event manager, I have to at least know that my fellow colleagues are competent enough at their jobs."

 

"So did you....?"

 

"Yes," the man answered and nodded stiffly, "I found it satisfactory."

 

John shifted his eyes back and forth awkwardly, "Is that a compliment?"

 

Sherlock didn't respond.

 

"Yes," Molly answered for him (again), "it was."

 

"Oh, well then, thanks mate." The taller man cringed at the last word, but otherwise, didn't say anything else.

 

Molly cleared her throat, "What did you want Mr. Watson to talk to you about, Mr. Holmes?" So his last name was Holmes.

 

The taller man cleared his throat, "Yes, right. The manager of the hotel, Richard Brook, is holding a small banquet Friday night. That means we have three days - not including today- to prepare" John nodded his head in understanding, "there are only going to be about twenty attendees, so you are going to be responsible for serving drinks. Do you understand?"

 

John nodded in understanding, "Right."

 

Mr. Holmes continued, "The drink menu has already been planned by Mr. Brook. He would like gin and vodka martinis but hasn't specified what types of each he would like," a flicker of annoyance showed on Sherlock's face, "I'd like to try your vodka martinis by tomorrow, but I don't think you need any help with the latter."

 

John gaped in disbelief, "You don't do anything without a purpose, do you?"

 

"No, no I don't." His eyes pierced John's and John wondered if there was a double meaning behind those words. He stared back, unable to tear his eyes away from the man's eyes. Something about this man entranced him.

 

Molly cleared her throat, again, louder this time. It shook John and the other man out of their staring and John felt a blush creep up his neck and he looked away awkwardly.

 

"Well," Mr. Holmes started, "I'm afraid I have to leave. It was nice talking to you, Mr. Watson."

 

"Wait!" John called out before he could stop himself, "Is that it?"

 

He cocked an eyebrow, "Is what, it?"

 

"We've only just met, I don't know your name, I don't know where we're meeting up, hell, we don't know a thing about each other-"

 

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

 

John blinked in confusion, "I beg your pardon?"

 

"Which was it," Sherlock repeated, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

 

"Afghanistan," John answered, "how did you -?"

 

"Meet me at the bar right after your shift ends, at 1:30 AM, sharp." the man threw on the large coat, "the name is Sherlock Holmes and if you need me, my address is 221B Baker Street." He twirled around and left with a wink, his navy coat swishing as the door closed.

 

"Has he always been so-"

 

"Dramatic?" Molly asked from behind him, "Yeah, he's always been like that."

 

"I was going to say interesting, but dramatic fits too."  John spared one more look at the door where Sherlock had left turned back around and went back to the storage room, where Mary was rinsing a cocktail shaker.

 

That morning when he arrived back at his flat at 2 AM, for the first time in months, he fell asleep into a dreamless sleep and a smile on his face.

 

\--------------------------

When he arrived back at the bar that afternoon, he couldn't stop thinking about the meeting with Mr. Holmes. (Or should he say, Sherlock) Not when a customer dropped their glass on the floor, (effectively shattering it) or when Mary was trying to start a conversation like their last shift hadn't even happened. (All attempts were met with half-hearted and distracted replies.)

 

He wasn't sure why he kept thinking about it. At the end of the day, Sherlock couldn't fire him. He was just John's co-worker.  _ A co-worker who knew where I went to war. _ That thought unsettled him a bit, and suddenly, he felt just that much bit on edge.

 

He shook his head in frustration. What was happening to him? He had once been getting shot at and saving bleeding soldiers for crying out loud! He could handle a single meeting with a man who wasn't even his boss! That thought relieved most of his anxiety and he instantly felt a lot more composed and confident. (And curious. How had he known about Afghanistan?)

 

When one-ten rolled around, true to his word, Sherlock arrived at the bar. Most of the crowd that had gathered earlier had dispersed, save for one or two people chatting on the couch.

 

"So," John started, "why did you want me to meet you here?"

 

Sherlock took off his coat and set it on the counter next to him, revealing a very different outfit from the day before. The day before, he had worn an incredibly posh suit. Now, it seemed that he had abandoned the suit jacket entirely, and he wore a lilac button-up shirt and jeans.

 

"Vodka martini, please," Sherlock answered.

 

"Should I surprise you again?"

 

Sherlock smirked, "Only if you can."

 

"Is that a challenge?"

 

"It could be."

 

John laughed and set to work on the vodka martini.

 

When he handed finished it, he handed the chilled glass to Sherlock, "Here you go. A clean, pure, vodka martini."

 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, "It's ordinary?"

 

John shrugged, "Sometimes the best way to surprise someone, is to do the exact opposite of what they're expecting."

 

Sherlock frowned in thought, and like the day before, he studied the martini a few seconds before taking a sip.

 

John shifted on his leg, the previous confidence he had now suddenly gone, "How is it...?"

 

"Mm," Sherlock hummed thoughtfully, and licked his lips, "for a basic vodka martini, I would say it is not bad."

 

_ Guess that's better than nothing. _ "Alright then."

 

They stood in silence before John's curiosity got the best of him, "How did you know?"

 

"How did I know what?"

 

"About, you know, what you said. 'Afghanistan or Iraq?" How did you know that."

 

Sherlock set his martini down, "your tan."

 

"My tan? That's it?"

 

"Well, no, not just your tan," Sherlock conceded, "the way you hold yourself, helps with that too." He paused and his eyes seemed to pierce John's bewildered expression, "I have a feeling you want to know more."

 

John nodded his head hurriedly.

 

"Very well then. Your face is tan, but not above your wrists, so you weren't sunbathing. You hold yourself like a soldier, back straight, and you seem to almost forget the heavy limp in your leg when you're making drinks; hence how you are able to use both hands without too much discomfort. So, psychosomatic," John's eyes were wide open as he tried to follow along Sherlock's rapid-fire words, "If your limp was psychosomatic, that means that your situation at the time of your injury had been traumatic; wounded in action. Ex-soldier then. The only logical solution? Afghanistan or Iraq."

 

John shook his head in astonishment, "That was amazing."

 

"You think so?" Sherlock's cool composure seemed to falter at John's remark.

 

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary." How could it not be? Sherlock had gotten all of that just from him.

 

"That's not what people normally say."

 

"What do people normally say?"

 

"Piss off."

 

John grinned, "Seems about right," there was a beat of silence, "You know, you got one thing wrong,"

 

"Really?" Sherlock frowned.

 

"I was an ex-army doctor. Not just a soldier."

 

"Doctor!" Sherlock frowned, "there's always something." He said it so petulantly, it made John grin again.

 

"It's not that humorous." It sounded like a reprimand, but John could see the amusement in Sherlock's eyes.

 

"Yeah, yeah," John's smile slowly melted on his face as he prepared the next question, "um, hey, on a completely different note, I was wondering," was he really going to do this? "if I could meet you here again tomorrow."

 

Sherlock seemed to hesitate, "John, um, I think you should know that I do consider myself married to my work and..."

 

"No," he felt his face heat. Why had he said that? What was he thinking? "No that's not- I just wanted to maybe see if I could help with anything else. It wasn't that."

 

Sherlock nodded slowly, "I guess that a little guidance  on your part wouldn't hurt."

 

"R-right. Y-yeah," John stuttered.

 

Sherlock seemed to think for a few seconds, "Tomorrow, same time. 1:30 AM. Meet me in the storage room. Questions?"

 

"No," John shook his head, "I'm good."

 

"Alright. Till then, think of a way to build on the vodka martini. It's adequate, but I believe there's room for improvement. And so will Mr. Brook," he made eye contact with John, "believe me when I say this: Richard Brook is neither a pleasant or easy man to please."

 

John nodded deliberately. What was he supposed to do?  On one hand, he wanted to know what was so wrong about Richard Brook. On the other, it sounded suspicious as hell, and the last thing he wanted was to get fired on his second day.

 

"Do you drive, John?"

 

John rubbed the back of his neck, "No, actually. I don't. I take the bus. Sometimes the train if I need to go out-of-town. Why?"

 

Sherlock pushed the glass towards John, and John hastily grabbed it to prevent it from sliding off the counter, "Finish my drink. You've wanted a drink all day, but you haven't been able to because you've been working."

 

_ How! _

 

Sherlock set down two fivers again. John took them, "keep the change?"

 

"It's two pounds extra. Indifferent to me."

 

John didn't know whether to be offended or thankful, so rolled his eyes and said, "Thank you."

 

Sherlock smiled, "You're welcome."

 

"God, you're a git, you know that?"

 

Sherlock didn't reply. Instead, he said, "Goodnight John Watson. Or should I say, good morning?"

 

"Good morning's good." He flashed a smile and watched as Sherlock left. He studied the chilled clear liquid in the martini glass, downed the rest of it and set the glass aside.

 

That drink was rather boring, wasn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ___________  
> Disclaimer: I do not work at a bar, but I have tried my hardest to research as much as I can. If you find any mistakes or things I should add, don't hesitate to tell me in the comments!
> 
> Thank you to my friend who beta'd this chapter!
> 
> Check me out at [ my Tumblr ](https://loveinthefandoms.tumblr.com/) for updates and fandom nonsense.
> 
> (Also, sorry if the spacing is a bit wonky. I use Google Docs to write, and for some reason, when I transfer it to here, the paragraph spaces become twice as large. Anyone have any suggestions on how to fix this?)


End file.
